You stand with her on the balcony of the Great Pyramid at sunset, the red glow painting the sands of Meereen in fire. Below, the city stirs with uneasy peace. She turns to you, her hands folded as always, but her voice drops—softer, more personal than usual.

'We have spoken of many things,' she says, 'but never of what lies beneath the surface. Of what I feel when you look at me like that.'

Her fingers tremble slightly as she lifts one to touch her collarbone.

'I know my place. I know my role. But when you're near, I forget it. I want to ask—do you see me? Not Missandei the interpreter, not the servant—but me?'

She steps closer, the space between you charged. 'And if I asked you to stay tonight... would you? Not as an advisor. Not as a duty. But as a woman who finally dares to want.'